


so is unmatched socks where you draw the line?

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 30 Days of Domestic Fluff Challenge, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-06 12:44:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15886320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: They’re acting domestic long before either of them realizes what it means.





	1. #3 Doing Laundry

**Author's Note:**

> (Technically, it's not cheating if the challenge rules never specify all fics need to be of the same ship.)
> 
> Set after 2014 World Cup.

There’s someone else in his apartment.

Waking up to someone in his apartment should probably make Riccardo warier than he actually is, but ever since his last injury, he has grown used to his mom, brother, or Giorgio popping in uninvited.

The last one is the most curious development, considering Giorgio lives in a different city and all things considered, he shouldn’t find himself “in the neighbourhood” bi-weekly.

Not that Riccardo is complaining: with a broken leg, he’s more than happy to have people come to his place instead of the other way around.

“You know,” Riccardo tells Giorgio from the door of his bathroom, casually leaning on the doorframe in hidden attempt to keep his weight off his hurt leg, “I’m fully capable of doing my own laundry. I broke my leg, not my brain.”

Giorgio looks up from his task of sorting Riccardo’s laundry into whites and coloureds and offers him a sheepish smile. “Then how come you’re wearing the same T-shirt as the last time I visited you?”

Riccardo huffs and rolls his eyes good-naturedly, limping into the bathroom and picking up his toothbrush before sinking down to sit on the closed toilet seat with a soft sigh of relief as he can finally stretch out his leg. “It’s called nightwear. It’s not my fault you always barge in at the crack of dawn.”

He starts brushing his teeth, curiously studying the way Giorgio sorts through his pile of dirty socks, one by one, before he starts filling the washing machine with white laundry.

“It’s 11 o’clock,” Giorgio deadpans without looking at Riccardo. He is now measuring the detergent. “Hardly dawn anymore. You’re just a lazy ass.”

“I’ll have you know my ass is perfectly fine. Don’t you dare go insulting him behind my back.” Riccardo laughs around his toothbrush and a bit of foam might drip down his chin.

Giorgio joins his laughter as he sets the wash program, and then he turns to face Riccardo. “So you’re telling me you’re fine with me insulting your ass in your face?”

“I never said that!” Riccardo protests with a smile and finally spits the foam from his mouth into the sink.

Giorgio takes one long stride toward Riccardo so he’s standing right in front of him. He tugs on the collar of Riccardo’s white T-shirt and commands pointedly, “Off!”

Riccardo crosses his arms in defiance, but Giorgio is having none of that: he takes a hold of the hem of the shirt and tugs it over Riccardo’s head himself. He makes a point of wiping off the foam on Riccardo’s face with the shirt before turning around and throwing it into the washing machine.

“Now get up. I’ll make you coffee,” Giorgio tells him when the machine is thrumming happily in the corner. He offers his hand to help Riccardo up, and Riccardo accepts without a complaint, allowing Giorgio to wrap his arm around his waist to support him on the way to the kitchen.

“Thanks mom,” Riccardo chirps happily when he’s safely seated by the dining table.

For a second Giorgio looks like he wants to say something, but then he snaps his mouth shut with a tight smile. Riccardo has no time to ponder on the expression for long, as Giorgio launches into another funny anecdote from the World Cup campaign.

There’s a moment when Riccardo almost lets his jealousy get the best of him, because all these stories are just a reminder of what he missed out on because of his injury. But then Giorgio pushes a fresh cup of coffee into his hands and sits down across from him, offering him a fond smile; and really, how could Riccardo ever stay mad at him?

“You know, if you wanted to get me out of my shirt, you could’ve just asked.”

Riccardo sniggers into his coffee as Giorgio suddenly finds the pattern of his tablecloth irresistibly fascinating. It does nothing to hide the blush that rises all the way up to his ears.


	2. #5 Nighttime Routine

He washes his teeth for the dentist-recommended two minutes.

He moisturizes his skin using the products sponsored by Nivea and combs his hair in place even though come morning it will be the same old bird’s nest.

He closes the windows and double checks his door is locked, before pouring himself a glass of water.

He glances at the side table with his painkillers. His leg’s been killing him the whole day, but his doctors have warned him about the risk of addiction.

_Only take them when absolutely necessary. It’ll stop working if you keep popping them like candy._

His leg gives another jolt of pain when he starts heading for the bedroom. Fuck it. Two pills later, and he’s finally ready for bed.

He changes into pair of pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. Getting dressed with his leg in a cast is still a challenge, but he’s surviving. The little inconveniences are the least of his worries.

He dims the lights and slips between the covers. The book he started two nights ago is laying face down on his night stand, waiting to be picked up again.

He waits, and he is not disappointed.

Like clockwork, his phone chimes for a new text message. Giorgio still uses text messages, refuses to switch to IMs. It’s kind of cute.

_“How was your day?”_

Riccardo smiles to himself and types a non-committal reply he will not even remember tomorrow.

There’s another chime. Another text.

_“That’s nice. Sweet dreams. xo”_

And Riccardo knows they will be.


	3. #6 Shopping (For Needs)

“I still think you should’ve just given me a list and I would’ve brought everything to your place.”

Giorgio’s complaints are falling flat in regular use, and by now he seems to be grumbling just for the heck of it. The easy way he returns Riccardo’s teasing smile tells all Riccardo needs to know.

“Then you might’ve guessed what I’m gonna cook tonight and ruined the surprise. Where’s the fun in that?” Riccardo glances over his shoulder at Giorgio who’s pushing the shopping cart. “Besides, my doctor told me everyday chores are a good way of keeping my mobility up until I can start full physio.”

“Your doctor also told you to cut down on your painkillers, but we still got another prescription just yesterday,” Giorgio reminds him needlessly.

“All the more reason to exercise and get better, huh?”

Riccardo fills a small bag with tomatoes and then moves on to choose aubergines. Giorgio follows him with the cart, keeping a bit too close eye on him to seem casual. Riccardo wants to tell him to stop worrying. Except, having someone to worry about his well being is kind of nice, so he holds his tongue.

That’s one of the reasons why he asked Giorgio to come with him, even though he could’ve made it on his own. It’s been over a week since he last needed his crutches, so it’s all about physical therapy from here on out.

Inviting Giorgio over for dinner at his place afterwards? That’s only because he likes the company and all his other friends happen to be busy. Or they probably would’ve told him they’re busy, had he called any of them instead of choosing Giorgio’s number from the get go.

Maybe Riccardo just likes Giorgio’s company, period.

“You know,” Riccardo starts as they walk through the aisles, Riccardo occasionally dropping some new groceries in the cart, “I really miss the meals in Milanello. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s nice, eating with the whole team.”

That’s not at all what he meant to say. But it’s probably a lot safer option than whatever was on his mind only moments earlier. So, he keeps rambling, “I mean, I still go to Milanello and see the guys almost every day. But it’s different when I’m training on completely different schedule from theirs.”

Giorgio indulges him, humming his understanding as Riccardo keeps up the constant flow of conversation. He’s only half paying attention to his own words by this point.

“I’m sure they miss you too,” Giorgio assures him when he finally takes a break to choose which bottle of wine will suit the moussaka. “I sure would.”

“Which is why you keep coming over uninvited.”

“You did invite me, though.”

That shuts Riccardo up. Yes, he did invite Giorgio. He also gave Giorgio his key the first week he came back from Brazil, because opening the front door every time was too much work. He also hasn’t left any text message unanswered since Giorgio started sending them on the first day of World Cup.

“Don’t think too highly of yourself.” Riccardo elbows Giorgio gently as he drops two bottles of wine in the cart. “You’re just convenient because you never say no to me.”

Riccardo is quite sure he’s blushing, his cheeks feeling unnaturally hot in the heavily airconditioned grocery store. To hide the damning evidence, he walks ahead with a stride that’s a bit too quick, pain shooting up his leg like lightning bolt.

He hisses in pain sharply and curses under his breath. Giorgio is by his side immediately, wrapping an arm around his waist so he can relieve some of the weight off his leg.

“I don’t mind,” Giorgio tells him softly, his face far too close for comfort, breath cool against Riccardo’s face. “I can be convenient for you.”

He leads Riccardo to the closest bench and helps him sit down before he goes and retrieves the forgotten shopping cart.

“You okay? Need me to get you something?” Giorgio is literally fussing over him. “You got your painkillers with you?”

The only thing hurt is Riccardo’s pride. After all he did to assure Giorgio he was practically healed. “You’re worse than my mom.”

Giorgio laughs and ruffles Riccardo’s hair. “That’s because she’s not here, kiddo.”

“You’re the same age as me,” Riccardo reminds him with a laugh of his own. “But thanks. For being here.”

Then, after a short consideration, “You could get me some ice cream, though.”


	4. #8 Wearing Each Other’s Clothes

There are two things Giorgio realizes when he wakes up.

  1. He is not in his own bed.
  2. His blanket smells like Riccardo.



He blinks his eyes slowly to orient himself. It is surprisingly difficult, the Riccardo-smelling blanket proving to be a huge distraction, too warm and comfortable wrapped around his body.

After a moment of collecting his thoughts, Giorgio comes to his first conclusion: he is not in a bed at all, it’s a sofa. In Riccardo’s living room, which explains his second question.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Riccardo is also in his living room, apparently. He is curled up in an armchair, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands. He is wearing a hoodie Giorgio recognizes as his own.

“You want coffee?” Riccardo asks when it takes too long for Giorgio to find his voice. The hoodie is too big for Riccardo, but it still somehow suits him.

It occurs to Giorgio he should probably answer the question. Instead, what comes from his mouth is, “Where’d you get that? I don’t remember bringing it over.”

Riccardo acts as if he only now realizes what he’s wearing. Maybe he did. “This? I’ve had it for a few weeks already. It’s comfy.”

He gets up and heads for the kitchen. “Milk and a bit of sugar, right?”

Giorgio finally sits up in his makeshift bed. He’s slowly waking up, remembering the previous night, just sitting around, talking about all and nothing, drinking wine until he was too exhausted to catch a cab home. Riccardo had fetched him a blanket and something more comfortable to sleep in.

It only now occurs to Giorgio he is wearing Riccardo’s t-shirt. One with an AC Milan logo. Figures.

There’s also a towel and a small pile of fresh clothes on the floor next to the coach. On top of the pile, there’s a mismatched pair of socks, one of which looks suspiciously like one of Giorgio’s.

He makes a mental note to raid Riccardo’s closet for the rest of his missing pieces of clothing.

Riccardo pushes the fresh mug of coffee into his waiting hands and offers him an affectionate smile. Their fingers brush against each other accidentally.

Suddenly, the mystery of his missing socks couldn’t be further away from Giorgio’s mind.


	5. #9 Nursing the Sick One

 

 

 

_“Come pick me up?”_

 

It’s all Giorgio needs to hear to blow off his plans for the day.

It’s not so much what Riccardo says. It’s more about how he says it. It reminds Giorgio of the time right after Riccardo’s injury, when it became apparent that he would miss the World Cup.

Allegri surprisingly gives him no shit for skipping practice – possibly because he knows Riccardo and how hard it is to say no to him – and his friends are more than happy to reschedule their planned dinner when he tells them it’s a family emergency. It doesn’t even feel like a lie to Giorgio.

Riccardo is as good as family to him by now, isn’t he?

Giorgio lets himself in Riccardo’s apartment without bothering with the doorbell. He doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with Riccardo, but he does know it must be serious or he wouldn’t have called Giorgio. Riccardo is rarely the one who initiates contact between them.

He finds Riccardo curled up in bed, fast asleep. One look at his face and Giorgio knows he’s not fine. This is not Riccardo’s calm sleeping face – he’s tense all over, brow furrowed and lips pressed in a tight line. Giorgio doesn’t stop to ponder when exactly he learned to recognize Riccardo’s different sleeping faces.

There’s an empty bottle of painkillers on the nightstand along with a half-full glass of water. Giorgio tries to remember how many pills Riccardo had left the last time he came over. Not too many, he thinks, but also not so little that he should have run out so soon.

“What the hell are you doing, Monto?” he mutters, pressing the back of his hand against Riccardo’s forehead. He feels damp and feverish.

“It hurts,” Riccardo whimpers out, seeming only half-aware of his surroundings.

“What hurts?” Giorgio asks quietly, crouching next to the bed so he can speak right into Riccardo’s ear instead of raising his voice above whisper. “Talk to me, Monto. How’d this happen?”

Riccardo’s been working so hard on his physiotherapy, trying to get fit enough to get back on the pitch as soon as possible. Giorgio can’t imagine how it could’ve backfired this hard.

Riccardo opens his eyes slowly, looking up at Giorgio through his lashes. Giorgio thinks the pale blue of his eyes looks even lighter than usual. His eyes are pleading for _something_ , and Giorgio feels as helpless as Riccardo looks, because he has no idea what’s going on.

“How long have you been like this?”

Riccardo shrugs one shoulder and curls his limbs tighter into himself. “Since last night. I thought—,” a long yawn cuts off his sentence, “I thought it’s jus’ muscle ache. Bu’ it fuckin’ hurts.”

This is far from your usual muscle aches caused by simple lack of exercise. Giorgio pinches the bridge of his nose. “We need to get you to a hospital, okay? It could be some complication with your leg.”

“I just wanted it to be over,” Riccardo mumbles against Giorgio’s shoulder as Giorgio helps him sit up in the bed. He’s fully clothed, probably passed out on the painkillers the night before. “’t was gettin’ better. So, I don’ know—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Giorgio helps him up and starts leading him towards the door. “Let’s just get you better, huh? Then you can keep planning your comeback.”

He is half-carrying Riccardo by the time they reach his car, since Riccardo’s leg seems to have completely stopped carrying his weight. Giorgio curses silently when he realizes he probably should’ve grabbed the crutches from the hall before heading out. Riccardo hasn’t been using them in weeks, but Giorgio is certain he will be needing them again.

Riccardo has fallen asleep on the front seat when Giorgio comes back with the crutches. It’s probably for the best.

  

  

§§§§§

  

  

Riccardo wakes up in a far too familiar hospital bed.

He can’t remember how he got here, or why, or when.

He remembers Giorgio’s arms around him, soothing words in his ear. His doctor’s voice, too? Maybe. Probably, considering where he is.

He tries to piece together a clear picture between what he remembers and what he sees around him. He was hurting? He remembers taking the rest of his painkillers because he couldn’t sleep through the pain.

He remembers calling someone at some point. Giorgio? Most likely. He can’t remember Giorgio coming for him, he only remembers him being there.

Giorgio is here now, too, his groggy brain informs him belatedly. He’s sleeping in a chair next to Riccardo’s bed, arms crossed, and forehead creased with worry. Riccardo feels bad for once again being the cause of that expression on his friend’s face.

“What would I do without you?” His whisper falls on deaf ears. Giorgio huffs something in his sleep and shuffles in his seat, trying to find more comfortable position.

Riccardo shifts in the bed until he’s close enough to take a hold of Giorgio’s hand. He’s careful not to wake him up, but at the same time he needs that contact to ground himself. He stays like that for at least half an hour before his doctor walks in, startling Giorgio awake in the process.

“Hi,” Riccardo says with a tired smile, not bothering to pull his hand from Giorgio’s. Later he will claim he was still high on painkillers and therefore could not be held accountable for his sappiness.

“Hi,” Giorgio echoes. He squeezes Riccardo’s hand reassuringly.

Neither of them is really paying attention to what the doctor is saying. Something about infection and metal spikes in his bone and possible new operation.

Later Riccardo will cry and yell and curse his sucky luck. Giorgio will let him.


	6. #13 Washing Dishes

Giorgio knows he was right to be worried as soon as he walks into Riccardo’s apartment.

The hallway looks exactly like he left it when he took Riccardo to the hospital, save for the shoes and jackets lying on the floor that look like a new addition to the general disarray of the place.

The situation only goes direr from there as he walks into the living room, only to find Riccardo sprawled on the sofa, listlessly playing some random game on his phone. He is surrounded by an assortment of empty take out containers and coffee cups, half of which are still half-full, the black liquid having long since run cold.

Riccardo is not a messy person by nature, Giorgio knows as much from having shared a dorm room with him more than once in Coverciano during their shared time in the national team. It makes the situation even more alarming.

“Geez, you do realize it’s only one surgery, not the end of the world?” Giorgio is trying to keep his tone light, but still it feels like his words come out wrong. The glare Riccardo shoots him reveals the feeling is mutual.

“I mean, I know it sucks, but—,” Giorgio starts but then cuts himself off because he’s unsure what he wants to say.

_It’s gonna be fine?_ They don’t know that. Not yet.

_It’s not like football’s your whole life?_ But it kind of is, isn’t it? It’s the same for the both of them.

_You’ve come back from worse?_ That’s a blatant lie. Giorgio can’t come up with a single thing in Riccardo’s career so far that would come even close to what he’s going through now.

He’s started picking up the dirty coffee mugs scattered around all living room surfaces. “It sucks, but you can’t just throw away everything else in your life just because it might take a few months longer to get out there.”

_Just because you might never again be the same player you used to be._

Giorgio has an ominous feeling he’s not the only one thinking that. He keeps collecting the dirty dishes into his hands, pointedly pretending Riccardo’s obvious pessimism regarding his condition isn’t rubbing off on him.

“Stop that,” Riccardo snaps at him. His gaze shifts from Giorgio’s face to his hands holding the mugs and back. “You’re not my mom. Stop doing my chores for me.”

Giorgio takes a calming breath, mentally reminding himself that Riccardo is still hurting, so he shouldn’t take his sharp tone to heart. “As long as you refuse to take care of yourself, I’m more than happy to act as your de facto mother.”

He heads for the kitchen before Riccardo has a chance to offer any kind of retort.

He empties the remaining coffee from the cups and starts washing them under running water. Riccardo’s sink is lacking a proper plug, so there’s no other option. Giorgio remembers once complaining about the waste of water to Riccardo, who had promised he was going to get a new plug.

That was before this new breakdown, obviously. Giorgio makes a mental note to take care of it himself.

Washing the dishes is surprisingly relaxing, and Giorgio finds himself humming under his breath as he fixates all his focus on the task at hand rather than the man in the room next door.

He can hear the exact moment Riccardo joins him in the kitchen, his crutches scratching the floor as he walks closer. He’s probably been slacking off on his physio since their trip to the hospital, because even with the new setback, the doctors had said he should be able to keep walking without any extra support once the initial shock wears off.

Giorgio momentarily feels bad for enabling Riccardo’s bad habits, but then his mind is wiped completely blank, because suddenly Riccardo is too close for comfort, leaning his upper body against Giorgio’s back, arms wrapping around his midsection carefully, like wordlessly seeking permission.

“I’m sorry, Giorgio,” Riccardo whispers against his shoulder, face pressed against the wool of his cardigan. “I was being unfair. My mom actually never cleaned up after me. ‘Your mess, you clean it up.’ That’s what she used to say.”

He might have as well been talking in a foreign tongue, since Giorgio’s mind is literally down the gutter, the close proximity effectively stopping any potential reply from forming in his brain.

The dishes lay forgotten in the sink, water still running unattended.

Riccardo has stopped talking, but he doesn’t move away from Giorgio. Instead, he tightens his hold and hides his face completely against Giorgio’s shoulder. Giorgio can feel his warm breath through his clothes.

He gives up the struggle when it becomes obvious Riccardo has no intention of letting him go anytime soon. He splays his palms over Riccardo’s on his waist – their hands are almost the same size, even though Giorgio’s palms are wider while Riccardo’s fingers are longer – and slowly relaxes into the embrace.

Neither of them probably knows where this is going in the long run.

To be frank, neither of them cares, either.


	7. #14 Homework and/or Job Work

The aftermath of Riccardo’s new operation is characterized by Riccardo’s daily temper tantrums and new grey hairs appearing in Giorgio’s carefully shaved head.

Riccardo seems to be alternating between overdoing his physical therapy, ending up in the bottom of his bed in constant pain, and refusing to train at all because “What’s the point, it’s not getting better no matter what I do?”

Giorgio has picked up a new habit of calling Riccardo each night instead of just texting him. He tells himself it’s because Riccardo needs someone to kick his ass into gear when he’s slacking off on his training regime.

It’s definitely not because the image of Riccardo’s unconscious body in the hospital bed has burned itself into his brain.

“Think of it as a homework assignment,” Giorgio tries to give Riccardo a pep talk, phone balanced between his ear and shoulder, while he tries to tie his own boots for tonight’s Champions League match. “It feels useless when you’re doing it, but by the time the exam comes along, you’ll realize how much you’ve learned from sticking to it.”

“Spoken like a true academic,” Riccardo sneers, but Giorgio can hear a smile in his voice. His bad moods are rarely directed at Giorgio, not even when he spends hours complaining about the incompetence of his physio guy or whining about how his new painkillers aren’t taking the edge off. “I actually never did my homework back when I was at school. I was always just playing football.”

Giorgio knows for a fact that’s not true: he remembers spending long nights at shared junior training camps studying together with Riccardo. Those nights seem so far away now, and Giorgio finds himself missing the times when his biggest worry was balancing his time between homework and football practice.

“Well, if you skip this assignment, you won’t be able to play again.” Hard facts always work when motivating doesn’t. “So stop complaining and drag you arse up from the sofa.”

“Can’t right now,” Riccardo deadpans, but he doesn’t sound defiant, only smug – Giorgio can practically see the smirk forming on his lips as he continues – “My friend’s playing tonight. Heard it’s a really important match. Figured he could use cheering squad.”

Gigi pokes Giorgio’s side as he walks out of the dressing room, leading the rest of the team like the captain he is. “Say hi to Monto from me.”

Riccardo chuckles in the other end of the line; he obviously heard Gigi’s comment.

“Um, yeah, Gigi says hi.”

Giorgio is glad Riccardo cannot see his blush, even though little good it does when all his teammates are there to record it and send live videos into Riccardo’s phone. They’ve done it before. Giorgio kind of hates his teammates.

“Hi,” Riccardo echoes in a soft voice. It’s not one for Gigi – it’s all for Giorgio, and it makes Giorgio’s heart skip a beat accordingly.

“I gotta go. The match is starting.” He’s speaking too quickly, and he knows it. Riccardo does not comment on it.

“Go get them, Giorgio. Break a leg—" Riccardo clicks his tongue as he realizes what he just said. “Or don’t, preferably. Hurts like hell, that.”

Giorgio laughs out loud, earning a few suspicious glances from his teammates. He waves them off and says his goodbyes to Riccardo in a soft voice, quiet enough to keep it between the two of them.

When he walks out onto the pitch, ready to do his job for the night, it feels like he’s playing for the two of them, too.


	8. #16 Trying Something New

“I like you.”

Giorgio’s mirror image looks back at him unimpressed. The words feel all kinds of awkward on his tongue, like incredulous that such confusing feelings could ever be summed up in three plain syllables.

“I like you,” he repeats more certainly this time, staring down his image as if in challenge.

It’s not the first time Giorgio has confessed his feelings to someone else – the first one was Martina with the pigtails from one grade above him; he was eight years old – but it is the first time he feels like his life might end if he does it wrong.

“I _like_ you, Riccardo.” The shift in emphasis feels forced, so Giorgio tries again with a more casual tone, “I like you, Riccardo. A lot.”

It’s also the first time he’s confessed his feelings to a guy. It’s just not something you do when playing professional football, especially not when dating women is still a plausible option. This is the first time that Giorgio’s found himself feeling more than your casual everyday attraction towards someone of his own sex.

He knows that if there’s one guy he can feel safe confessing his feelings to, it’s definitely Riccardo. He’s never felt this close to any of his other male friends, and he knows that even when/if Riccardo doesn’t return his feelings, he will let him down gently.

“I like you. As in, romantically. I like you like I’ve never liked anyone before.”

So, why does he still feel like he’s bound to mess up and break his own heart no matter how many times he’s practiced his confession in front of a mirror.

His phone buzzes for a new message.

_“I’m back running! I’ll be kicking your ass on the pitch in no time! xo”_

Riccardo has attached a photo of himself in the Milanello locker room, hair wet and smile wide.

“I love you,” Giorgio tells the picture.

He only realizes how right the words feel when they fall off his lips.


	9. #17 Kisses

The restaurant is filled with chatter and bouts of laughter, exchanged stories and easy jokes flying all around the table.

Riccardo seems happier than Giorgio has seen him since he first was injured so many months ago.

There’s an empty seat next to Riccardo, but Giorgio takes a seat on the other side of the table next to Bonucci instead. He’s been hogging Riccardo’s attention for months, it’s about time Riccardo got a chance to enjoy the company of his other friends from the national team.

It was arranged by Abate and Gigi, the unofficial celebration to welcome Riccardo back from his sick leave, even though he’s yet to make his comeback on the pitch. He’s been training together with the Milan squad, though, which has inevitably meant he’s had less time to hang out with Giorgio.

Silently Giorgio thinks it might be for the best, what with his newly realized feelings for Riccardo. A silly crush is one thing, but Giorgio doesn’t think he could handle rejection when all he has been able to think about for weeks now is kissing Riccardo whenever they’re in the same room.

It’s not like Riccardo needs him anymore, with his leg now properly healed, so he’s free to do his own groceries and chores. He doesn’t need Giorgio driving him around or looking after him anymore.

He catches Riccardo looking at him with a curious expression, and it makes his face heat up in a far too familiar way. Bonucci is talking to Giorgio about his new baby – _“You should really come and see him sometime. I can’t believe he’s growing so fast.”_ – but Giorgio finds he can’t concentrate on the conversation, the feeling of Riccardo’s eyes on him still lingering in the back of his mind.

He excuses himself and heads for the bathroom. When he leaves the private booth reserved for them, he can see that most of the other tables are occupied by couples on dates, some sharing desserts, others enjoying glasses of champagne to start off the romantic evening.

Giorgio knows it’s silly to feel jealous of these people, when they could never be like this, in love in the open, even if he did find his courage – or the words – to express his feelings to Riccardo.

He splashes his face with cold water to clear up his thoughts. It shouldn’t be this difficult; he’s still the same Giorgio and Riccardo is the same Riccardo. The only thing that’s different is that Giorgio finally understands that his feelings – the same feelings he’s been experiencing all along – are far from platonic.

Riccardo walks into the bathroom right when Giorgio is about to leave. The universe seems to be toying with him.

“Wait,” Riccardo tells him softly when Giorgio tries to make his escape. He reaches out and takes a hold of Giorgio’s wrist as if to hold him back, even though his one word was more than enough to stop Giorgio in his tracks. “What’s going on, Giorgio? You’ve been distant the whole evening.”

He looks just worried, not angry in the least. Giorgio is almost taken aback by the distinct lack of lingering sadness or rage that used to be there every time he looked Riccardo in the eye.

Riccardo looks so happy and open now, albeit still exhausted from the extensive rehabilitation he’s been going through since he got back on his feet. It’s beautiful. No, it’s breath-taking.

Giorgio swallows his hesitation before opening his mouth to answer – but what? He has no excuses left. No matter what he says, it will do nothing to stop his constant need to be close to Riccardo.

Riccardo is studying his face, worry morphing into something akin to understanding. His mouth opens to form a silent ‘oh’; then he smiles and tightens his hold on Giorgio’s wrist, pulling his hand up until it’s pressed against Riccardo’s warm cheek. “You’re thinking stupid thoughts, aren’t you?”

Riccardo turns his head just slightly, just enough to press a briefest of kisses against Giorgio’s palm. “Silly Giorgio, you didn’t even realize I’d saved that seat for _you_ , did you?”

Riccardo kisses his palm again. It makes Giorgio’s heart skip a beat. He still can’t find the right words. Maybe there aren’t any. Or maybe Riccardo has somehow stolen all the right words from him, saying them out loud in his place.

Riccardo is smiling at him, open and inviting. There’s no fear, no worry, no doubt.

Giorgio’s the one who didn’t get it, all along. Riccardo has just been waiting for him to catch on.

“May I?” Giorgio finally whispers, his voice trembling with something that’s not fear anymore. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, has never done this before.

Riccardo meets his eyes and chuckles softly. “Do you really need to ask?”

Their first kiss is nothing too fancy, just a simple press of lips against lips, their noses aligned perfectly, and Giorgio’s palm still pressed against Riccardo’s cheek. The chatter outside the bathroom door keeps them rooted, reminding both of them that they can’t afford getting caught here.

Giorgio sits next to Riccardo when they join the rest of their teammates. Riccardo holds his hand under the table.

If anyone notices any change in them, nobody comments on it.


	10. #18 Hugs

Giorgio had always thought that getting into a romantic relationship would somehow turn his world around, but as the things stand, there’s not much of a change at all.

They still send silly goodnight texts to each other. Or at least Giorgio does, Riccardo usually calls back, or just sends him a selfie instead of texting.

Giorgio still does the laundry at Riccardo’s place, because out of the two of them, he’s always the first one to get fed up with the mess.

Riccardo still steals Giorgio’s clothes whenever he has a change. Giorgio is fairly sure half of the socks in Riccardo’s drawer by now are actually his.

When he stays over at Riccardo’s, Giorgio still uses the toothbrush Riccardo got him after that first night Giorgio fell asleep on his couch. Giorgio has also bought a toothbrush for Riccardo at his place.

They don’t go around kissing or holding hands in public; and they don’t go out on dates like any normal couple would, for the obvious reasons.

So, no, there’s not really much change at all aside from the fact that they _are_ kissing behind closed doors – something Giorgio still can’t quite believe is actually happening.

There is one thing that’s changed though. It’s such a small shift it takes Giorgio a while to realize anything has changed at all.

It’s the casual hugs.

As far as Giorgio knows, Riccardo has never been much of a hug person. He goes along with it on the pitch, because everyone is doing it, and he doesn’t pull away if one of his friends wants to hug him, but he doesn’t really initiate hugs unless it’s a special occasion.

They never used to hug as a greeting, for example, only going about their business as usual.

That’s not the case anymore, though; now Riccardo makes a point to pull Giorgio into a friendly hug whenever they meet up, much like Giorgio does with some of his more affectionate friends. There’s nothing inherently romantic about it. Were it anyone else doing it, Giorgio wouldn’t think twice about it.

With Riccardo, he welcomes the closeness without questioning the motives. It has become their way of showing they care in public without actually saying it. Just two lads sharing a friendly hug, except the meaning behind it much more intimate.

“I do it whenever I want to kiss you,” Riccardo tells him one night, wrapped up in Giorgio’s arms while they watch a movie on Netflix in Giorgio’s living room.

“I want to kiss you all the time,” Giorgio replies, absent-mindedly stroking Riccardo’s hair.

Riccardo laughs softly and looks up from where his head is nestled in the crook of Giorgio’s neck. “Stupid, I obviously meant whenever the urge becomes too hard not to act on.”

Giorgio takes advantage of their perfect position and leans down to kiss Riccardo’s lips, because here, in the privacy of his own home, he is allowed to do it. As many times as he wants.


	11. #19 Forgetting Something

“Are you wearing my socks again?”

Riccardo glances down at his feet. One of the socks might indeed be Giorgio’s, but he’s not sure about the other. They’re not a matching pair, that much he can tell immediately.

“Am I? I took them from my drawer,” he replies in feigned indifference, “so all things considered, they should be mine.”

All things considered, Riccardo has long since stopped caring who the clothes he puts on originally belonged to. They’re close enough in size, anyways – if some of his shirts feel a bit loose on him, he can always chalk it up to losing weight during rehabilitation.

“All things considered,” — Giorgio gives a pointed look at Riccardo’s socks — “don’t you have enough money to buy your own clothes? You do realize yours don’t fit me, so leaving your clothes behind at my place doesn’t really do me any good?”

“Well I’m not leaving them on purpose; I just keep forgetting.” Riccardo offers Giorgio a sheepish smile and wraps his arms around his neck, dropping a lazy kiss on his lips. “And even if I was, would that be so bad? At least I’ll have some spare clothes for when I stay over.”

Usually it’s easy enough to distract Giorgio when he starts acting smart, and this time is no different. Giorgio melts into Riccardo’s kisses easily and wraps his own arms around Riccardo’s waist to pull him closer. The sock-gate is officially closed for now.

To be honest, Riccardo has been making a point to ‘forget’ his clothes at Giorgio’s place ever since they became involved. It’s not really about stealing Giorgio’s clothes – even if Giorgio seems to think that’s the case – or even about having spares in case he forgets something at home. It’s just that Riccardo’s grown so used to having Giorgio’s stuff around all the time, and he wants to share that feeling with Giorgio.

It’s also a way to mark his territory, dropping little reminders of his existence into Giorgio’s space for the nights they can’t spend together. Honestly, Giorgio should be thanking him for being such a considerate boyfriend.

“Why’d you need spare clothes when you’re gonna use mine, anyways?”

Why is Giorgio breaking the kiss to focus on something completely unnecessary?

“You think too fucking much,” Riccardo whispers against Giorgio’s lips before pushing him down to sit on the edge of the bed. He climbs into his lap and cups Giorgio’s face between his hands. “That’s why it took you so long to figure out your own feelings. Why don’t you just stop thinking for a while and start feeling instead?”

He pecks Giorgio’s lips one, twice, three times, before Giorgio reaches for the back of his neck and crashes their lips together for a deeper kiss. Riccardo offers no resistance when Giorgio turns the tables on him: he goes down easily, lying on his back on the bed they made only fifteen minutes earlier. Giorgio’s body feels strong and safe above his, every touch gentle yet firm.

“I should get going,” Giorgio tells him between the kisses. “Or I’m gonna be late for practice. Again.”

“Or—” Riccardo wriggles his hips against Giorgio’s, smiling against his lips when he earns a satisfying groan in return. “You could forget practice and find out that I’m also wearing your underwear.”

Giorgio pauses for a moment, hovering over Riccardo, although he can’t get far with Riccardo’s arms still wrapped around his neck. “You’re joking.”

“Maybe,” Riccardo practically purrs, caressing the back of Giorgio’s neck and shoulders. He tilts his head to the side, flutters his lashes, knowing exactly what to do and say to keep Giorgio from leaving just yet. There’s still time before practice, after all. “Still, wouldn’t you like to find out?”

Giorgio chuckles and brushes his lips against the corner of Riccardo’s mouth. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me, stupid.” Riccardo cranes his neck and Giorgio moves down to kiss his jawline, then the skin by his ear, then his neck… “Now can we _please_ stop thinking?”

Giorgio will find out Riccardo lied about the underwear.

Riccardo will notice Giorgio wearing a pair of Riccardo’s socks once they’re done and ready to go.

He will not comment on it.


	12. #21 Road Trips

It was no accident that Riccardo chose Giorgio as his designated driver when he was unable to drive himself due to the injury.

He can claim it was because Giorgio was ‘convenient’ all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that he had many much more convenient options available, from family members to teammates to other friends based in Milan. But he still chose Giorgio.

The thing is, Riccardo loves watching Giorgio while he drives. The way he concentrates on what he’s doing, calmly and surely managing the horrible Italian traffic, never losing his temper even when the other drivers cut the lane or miss a stop sign.

Riccardo first learned to drive in Germany, taught by his grandfather in his old Audi when he was still a teenager. Of course, he has learned to drive in Italy too since then, but he never felt as comfortable doing it as Giorgio does.

He thinks he might’ve first fallen in love with Giorgio some three years back, when they first drove to Coverciano together for a national team training camp, along with Abate and Marchisio.

He remembers sitting in the front on passenger side and studying Giorgio’s every move, silently wondering why he never noticed before how handsome Giorgio is.

He never told anyone back then – he still hasn’t told anyone – but since then, he always took the chance to have a road trip with Giorgio, just so he could enjoy the steady ride and the soft humming of Giorgio as he sang along the random songs playing on the radio.

“What’re you looking at?” Giorgio asks with a self-conscious chuckle, glancing at Riccardo sitting on the passenger side, his voice bringing Riccardo back to this moment.

“Nothing much,” Riccardo assures him and reaches over to splay his hand over Giorgio’s on the gear shift. Giorgio still drives manual, it’s kind of cool. “Can’t I look at my boyfriend when I want to?”

Giorgio laughs and there’s a soft blush on his cheeks. They don’t really call each other boyfriends.

Riccardo leans his shoulder against the passenger side door, shifts until he finds a comfortable position, and then continues watching Giorgio silently, offering him adoring smiles whenever he glances to his right. The best part about their road trips lately is that it’s just the two of them, so he never has to divide his attention between anyone but Giorgio.

“We should do this more often.” Riccardo strokes the back of Giorgio’s hand carefully before entwining their fingers over the gearshift. “It’s nice, getting away from the city. When it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, it is nice.” Giorgio turns his wrist, so he can take a hold of Riccardo’s hand. He brings the hand to his face and kisses Riccardo’s knuckles gently. “Though I can assure you it won’t be just the two of us in Lake Como. Their winter fair is supposed to be bigger than ever.”

Yes, the place will be packed. But it’ll be mostly tourists, so they’ll have no trouble blending in. They even got matching winter jackets and woolhats – ugly ones, something to draw the attention away from their faces – to go with their large sunglasses.

And until they make it there, it’ll be just the two of them, in Giorgio’s warm car, with silly Christmas songs playing on the radio, just a bit too early in the season to feel festive yet.

“Thank you, Giorgio,” Riccardo says it without really thinking anything. Once the words are out of his mouth, he’s left wondering what he’s even thanking him for. There’s a ton to choose from, it feels like Giorgio’s been saving his life over and over again for months now.

“For what? I’ve done nothing.” Giorgio is laughing, probably thinking Riccardo is acting silly. Riccardo knows he is.

“Everything.” Riccardo squeezes Giorgio’s hand and leans in to brush his lips against Giorgio’s cheek. He’s usually good with words. But this is something he feels like he can’t get out right, so he prefers to show it in actions. “Just, keep driving. Let me look at you in peace.”

Giorgio is blushing again. So is Riccardo, probably.

“You’re adorable,” Giorgio tells him and then turns up the radio, humming along White Christmas. A road sign tells them it’s still 30 kilometres to Lake Como.


	13. #25 Keeping Plants

“What _is_ that?”

Giorgio would be the first to admit he adores Riccardo to pieces, but sometimes he has absolutely no idea what his boyfriend is thinking.

He also still gets butterflies in his stomach whenever he’s reminded that he’s allowed to call Riccardo his _boyfriend_.

“It’s a bonsai!” Riccardo is beaming at him, although his tone has a certain level of ‘duh’ in it to inform Giorgio he should stop asking stupid questions and start using his brain instead. Giorgio has long since stopped reminding Riccardo that out of the two of them, he is the only one with a university degree and therefore possesses actual tangible evidence that his brain is just fine.

“I get that,” he concedes instead of arguing the point, “but what I don’t get is, what the bonsai is doing in my kitchen?”

“It’s a present,” Riccardo informs him matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes in another expression of ‘duh’.

(Giorgio has so far counted and catalogued fourteen different ways Riccardo can express ‘duh’ without saying it out loud.)

“—Yes?” Giorgio stretches the syllable uncertainly, waiting for Riccardo to elaborate.

Giorgio has no plants in the house, mostly because he’s too busy with football and _Riccardo_ to take care of anything that requires more than casual commitment.

Riccardo has no plants in his house either, probably because of similar reasons. Or, more likely, because he needs Giorgio there even to do his laundry and dishes, so no one in their right mind would ever make him take care of anything that requires his daily attention.

And yet, there the bonsai stands, in the middle of Giorgio’s kitchen table, a perfect picture of innocence.

Riccardo wraps his arms around Giorgio’s waist from behind and presses a playful kiss against his neck. “I actually got it from my mom. I think she’s worried I’m lonely and need something to keep myself occupied. But I know myself: I won’t remember to maintain it unless it grows a mouth and starts demanding my attention.”

Giorgio chuckles and covers Riccardo’s hands on his waist with his own.

“And before you say anything about my laundry,” — Riccardo clicks his tongue in what Giorgio knows is faked annoyance — “might I remind you I was doing just fine before you came into my life? I can’t help it if you’re just too easy.”

“ _I’m_ the easy one?” Giorgio enquires with a laugh and turns around to catch Riccardo’s lips into a quick kiss.

“Aren’t you, though?” Riccardo asks with an innocent smile, one raised eyebrow betraying his teasing.

Giorgio kisses him again, just because he can. “But bonsai, Riccardo? Really?”

“I figured you’d love to have something to fuss over, now that I’m healthy and shit.” Riccardo is drawing random shapes against Giorgio’s t-shirt-clad chest as he says it. Giorgio knows he’s fighting a losing battle even before Riccardo finishes his argument. “You’re so good at it, taking care of me. People. Things. You’d make a great dad. And I can’t have you running off and making babies under my watch.”

Giorgio suddenly remembers a talk they had a few years back, back when one of their mutual friends had just had their first child. He remembers Riccardo talking about how he always wanted a big family, remembers him saying he still wants it even though he’s afraid it’s never going to happen.

They were hardly even friends back then, merely acquaintances, but somehow the discussion has stuck with him all this time.

Maybe the bonsai is Riccardo’s way of compensating.

“Well, I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to take care of it, either. I’ve read bonsais need daily care,” Giorgio tells Riccardo, their foreheads pressed together and his tone a tad too serious for their earlier conversation. “But I’ll do my best. For you.”

Riccardo slaps top of Giorgio’s head with his palm gently, an embarrassed laugh escaping his lips. He doesn’t move away though, so close Giorgio can feel his warm breath on his face. “You’re making it sound weird, you big sap.”

“You’re the one who started it by giving me the damn thing!”

Riccardo is laughing properly now, his hands caressing the back of Giorgio’s neck and lips brushing the corner of his mouth. Giorgio knows the corners of his eyes must be wrinkled adorably, just like they always are when he smiles, but he’s too close to actually see it.

God, he loves this man.

“Should we give it a name?” he asks quietly, only half joking. Riccardo answers by laughing even harder. It makes the butterflies in Giorgio’s stomach make another happy dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I don't have any plants either. I once killed a cactus. Not one of my proudest moments.


	14. #26 Doctor Visits

In the past year, Giorgio has learned to hate hospitals with passion.

Rationally thinking, he knows hospitals are there to make people better, and the real issue are the injuries that keep bringing them there. But rationality is thrown out of the window when he’s stuck sitting in the waiting room – again – worried sick over Riccardo’s wellbeing – again.

It’s hard to stay rational when he’s learned to associate the too white hospital walls and the too silent corridors – the constant air of fear and apprehension – with Riccardo’s tears and pain.

“I told you, you didn’t need to come all the way here,” Riccardo tells him softly as he walks out of the examination room and sits down next to Giorgio. “The doctor said it’s nothing serious, so you could’ve just waited at home.”

“It’s serious enough that you needed to come in, though,” Giorgio counters, uneasiness coursing through his body. Seeing Riccardo back in the hospital makes his insides churn with worry, no matter how minor the issue might be.

He would take Riccardo’s hand into his own, to ease both their antsiness, but they’re in public so he doesn’t dare. “How much longer this is gonna take?”

“I _told_ you to go home! I’m a big boy, you don’t need to wait out here!” Riccardo huffs, his frustration finally showing. But is he frustrated with Giorgio or the situation in general?

This time Giorgio decides to ignore the curious eyes of the few bystanders as he takes Riccardo’s hand and squeezes it comfortingly. Riccardo visibly relaxes at his first touch, shoulders sagging, but his grip on Giorgio’s hand is tight, almost painful.

“You’re in pain,” he tells Riccardo in a soft voice, careful to keep the words just between the two of them, “what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I left you alone at a moment like this.”

Riccardo lets out a heavy sigh and leans his shoulder against Giorgio’s. Giorgio knows it’s all the comfort he can give Riccardo right now, but still it feels too little, and it leaves him feeling useless.

“It shouldn’t take much longer,” Riccardo says after a moment of silent contemplation. “They want to take CAT scans to make sure there’s no strains or tears in the muscle. But the doctor said it’s probably just fatigue. Apparently, I’ve been pushing myself too hard since I got back.”

Giorgio has been telling him to take it easy for weeks; and yet, ‘I told you so’ couldn’t be farther away from his mind when he hears Riccardo’s dejected tone.

“Let’s just get this over with and go home,” he replies quietly, squeezing Riccardo’s hand again. “And a fair warning: I’m gonna tie you down to bed if you don’t stay put once we’re there.”

“Kinky.” Riccardo is chuckling despite himself.

“Only when you’re back to full health.” Giorgio finds himself cracking a smile of his own.

Riccardo leans his head against Giorgio’s shoulder in surprising show of public intimacy. He is now holding Giorgio’s hand between both of his, caressing his knuckles gently in vast contrast to his earlier death grip. “Thank you for being here, Giorgio. I don’t know if I’d have been able to handle it on my own.”

So much for waiting at home. If Giorgio had a petty bone in his body, he might have said something to that.

“Anytime, Riccardo. You should know that by now.”

“I keep forgetting,” Riccardo admits as the doctor calls him in for next examinations. “I’m not used to putting my faith in other people.”

They really need to do something to fix that, Giorgio decides as he watches Riccardo follow the doctor into another room Giorgio is not allowed to enter with him.

He still hates hospitals when they finally walk out, their hands only inches away from each other.


	15. #30 I Love You’s

“I love you.”

All things considered, the words come out easier than Riccardo had anticipated.

He has said it before as a joke – “ _That’s why you love me_ ”; “ _Shut up, you know you love me_ ”; “ _Just look at me, how could you_ not _love me?_ ” – and for Riccardo it has always been the complete and honest truth. He has loved Giorgio much longer than he can even remember, long before their first kiss, even before his injury.

But knowing and saying it are two completely different things, which is why Riccardo had waited instead of throwing his feelings in Giorgio’s face right from the beginning. Because he needed to be sure – he couldn’t face the rejection after waiting for so long for Giorgio to come around.

He had decided to wait. He had wanted Giorgio to be the first to say it, even as an offhand comment to one of his jokes, but Giorgio never did.

Riccardo knows he’s being stupid – he _knows_ Giorgio loves him, can see it in every gesture and feel it in every kiss they share. He knows the words shouldn’t count for much when they both are obviously happy in this relationship, but the longer they go without saying it, the harder it becomes.

So, when the words finally fall off his lips without any conscious thought – after they make love in Giorgio’s bed after Juventus beats Milan at the Allianz Stadium – it takes Riccardo completely by surprise how natural it feels to say it.

Giorgio stays quiet, but Riccardo feels no pressure to take the words back, or to explain himself, or even to freak out because Giorgio is still not saying it. He only repeats the words against the crook of Giorgio’s neck, lips brushing against his skin with every word, “I love you, Giorgio.”

It’s been eight months since that horrible night in London, three months since they finally figured their shit out and stopped tiptoeing around their feelings for each other. It’s about fucking time Riccardo told Giorgio how he really feels.

He loves this smart, shy, soft-spoken, idiot of a man, and he wants to yell it to the whole world to hear over the rooftops of Turin. But alas, he can’t do that, so telling it to Giorgio in the privacy of his bedroom is the next best thing.

Giorgio tightens his hold around Riccardo’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. Riccardo is almost certain he is not going to say it, and it’s fine, really – they have all the time in the world, and Riccardo is willing to wait as long as it takes, until Giorgio is ready to say it back.

Riccardo is within seconds from falling asleep when Giorgio surprises him, the whisper just loud enough for him to catch the words, “I love you too, Riccardo.”

And okay, maybe Riccardo was ready to wait, and maybe he knew how Giorgio felt even without hearing him say it. But just as he hears them, he knows that those few silly words are the ones he’s been waiting to hear since he first figured out his own feelings for Giorgio.

They both fall asleep with smiles on their faces, entangled in the warm embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a wrap!
> 
> Thank you [prompt_fills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills) and [pique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pique) for organizing this great challenge and making me come out of my self-imposed hiatus. Also, thank you everyone who read either of my stories, left kudos, or commented! 
> 
> And a very special thanks goes to my personal cheerleader and all-around amazing person, [TheBlackWook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlackWook)! I feel so privileged for having met you, and I promise you I'm not at all done with the Chiello/Monto fics even if this one has come to an end.♥


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